


Clay Spenser and His List of Maladies

by lauren2381



Series: Seal Team Week [4]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren2381/pseuds/lauren2381
Summary: The story of how Trent and the rest of Bravo figured the kid out, one calamity at a time
Series: Seal Team Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599820
Comments: 60
Kudos: 186





	1. Blue - Not Breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sneakypeaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakypeaches/gifts).



> Happy (early) day four!  
> Special thanks to SneakyPeaches for offering to beta this ENTIRE piece, you're a gem

Sitting in the OPs center, Clay was practically vibrating with nervous energy. It was his second week on Bravo and while he had been spun up with them before, this was one of the first missions where he was taking point, rare for a rookie. Focusing back on what Blackburn was saying, Clay realized that maybe this mission was more than a simple recon, it was a lot more dangerous.

“Gentleman, under no circumstances are you to surface, we are not cleared to operate in this country. Get in, drop the tracker, and get out,” Blackburn said, closing the file. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but his priority was getting his men back home safely. The sway of the vessel that they were boarding wasn’t noticeable, but Eric Blackburn would blame anything for why his stomach was rolling, it certainly couldn’t be from nerves. This was the best damn team he had ever had the pleasure of commanding, it would be fine. 

Glancing around the dank cabin where his team was holed up in, Eric was struck by the profile of Clay Spenser. He had operated back in the day with Adam and Ash on the original Bravo team and every time he looked at Clay, he was brought back in time to a different Spenser, one that wasn’t half the operator that his son was making out to be, not even close. There were always whispers of things that happened behind closed doors in the Spenser household, but Eric could never find any evidence. Then Clay was sent to Liberia and Ash never talked about his son again, it wasn’t Eric’s place to pry. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, he preferred to pretend that Ash was a true pipehitter and not a wife beater, or worse a child abuser. “Suit up boys, we go as soon as you’re ready.”

“Ok, so Brock, you and the kid are going to take the dive. You’re going to have the tracker, attach it to the bow of the ship. In and Out. We’re going to stay as close to your pos as we can, but it’s likely to be about a ten click swim to shore. We’ll meet you and then the helo will hover for exfil,” Jason explained while Ray and Sonny were helping them into the wet suits. He didn’t like that the ship didn’t carry more than two wetsuits. He disliked even more that they only carried sizes that fit prepubescent boys, and Brock and Clay were the slimmest of the team. It would be a tight fit, but would have to work.

There was no other option and entertaining the idea of mission failure was laughable. Bravo would get the job done. 

“So we’re just putting the tracker on the ship, nothing fancy,” Clay clarified, thinking that the mission was a little too easy. Wasn’t being a tier one operator supposed to be dangerous?

“Nice and easy, good first OP to take point on,” Jason nodded. He hoped that the kid was up to this, but even if he wasn’t up to it, no shot that Brock was going in alone. 

The boys finished suiting up, oxygen tanks strapped to their backs as they made their way up to the deck. “Remember, do not surface,” Jason warned as they began their descent to the waves. Twin nods answered him as their regulators slipped into their mouths. Soon all Jason was watching were the bubbles on the surface of the glassy ocean where Brock and Clay were once treading water. 

“They’ll be fine Jace, Brock will look out for him,” Ray said at his elbow.

Jason nodded, rubbing his thigh absently. This mission was eerily similar to the one where they had lost Nate, he didn’t want to lose his rookie any time soon, no matter how annoying his loud mouth was, he was their brother now. “I know, I don’t like it,”

“Davis has the tracker on Brock, we have ISR on the ship, it’ll be fine. We’re going to meet them on shore. It’s out of our hands,” Ray clapped Jason on the shoulder, moving away from the whipping air on deck back down to TOC. He was anxious to let Clay out of his sight, but hovering on the deck wasn’t going to do any good, it would be better if he could see with his own two eyes where his brothers were at the moment, Davis would know. 

* * *

Clay and Brock made steady headway towards the approximate location of the target vessel. Clay swam in his normal long, smooth strokes behind Brock, concentrating on regulating his breathing. It was beaten into his head in BUDS that being the fastest swimmer was great, but it was better to be the swimmer that had enough air to finish the mission. And right now? If his breath sustained its frenetic pace, there wouldn’t be enough air. Clay couldn’t keep his breathing in check, it was coming faster and faster, no matter how many times he scolded himself to slow down. 

Once they reached the looming silhouette of the ship, Brock took the tracker out from the belt that he wore around his waist. Clay turned away from Brock, watching his six as he swam right up to the enemy vessel, placing the tracker on the bow. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Clay spun around. Brock nodded once and then swam back towards the direction that they had come from, or at least what Clay assumed was the direction. There was nothing but open water in front of him and behind him and for a moment, Clay didn’t know which way was up, but he knew that his brother wouldn’t steer him wrong. Focusing on the gentle flapping of Brock’s fins, Clay felt his heart beat slow down, but the square breathing wasn’t working, his breath still caught in his throat.  _ The square breathing always worked _ and its failure brought an edge of panic to Clay’s thoughts. It  _ always _ worked, and yet, today it failed. 

_ Breathe in, one… two… three… four. Hold, one… two… three… four… Breathe out, one… two… three… four. Hold, one… two… - fuck, he needed more air! _

Swimming side by side with Brock, Clay’s thoughts were racing. Something was wrong with his tubing or his regulator or something. There was no other explanation for why he couldn’t take a deep breath. Diving tanks emitted 100% oxygen, better than the air quality on dry land. Clay struggled to keep his cool as the sand started to rise beneath him, they were coming up on solid ground. Brock stood and surfaced, but Clay couldn’t get him legs to work.

He was stuck.

He couldn’t breathe. 

He was going to drown in water that was shallow enough for him to stand. 

Crawling forward on his hands and knees, Clay felt the sharp sting of shells and rocks penetrating his wetsuit as his head broke through the waves crashing on the shoreline. Clay spat the regulator out of his mouth, gasping the salty spray of the ocean flooded his mouth. As he fought to make his way up the beach, Clay dragged the canister behind him, panting heavily. Once he made it past the crashing waves, Clay left the canister where it lie and walked away from the safety of his brothers.

Vaguely he heard the chatter of his brothers, heard the pride in Brock’s voice when he spoke about how he placed the tracker without anyone knowing the wiser, heard Ray and Sonny laugh at the mermaid state of Brock’s curly hair. But at the same time, he also heard the rushing of his blood through his ears, the beat of heart thundering, drowning out any other sound. Each breath he tried to take into his lungs was getting harder and harder to draw. His chest was tight, and the little air he forced into his lungs felt like liquid fire, burning him from the inside out. 

_ I’m having a delayed onset beta-adrenergic response _ , he thought to himself. Clay almost didn’t believe it, of all the times for him to have a freaking panic attack, he chooses the middle of a mission, in front of his teammates no less. Just fucking perfect, he executes a textbooks diving operation and then panics like a little bitch for no reason at all. This was going to go over so well with Sonny. Fucking shit. 

They were taught about this in BUDS, it happened from time to time when operations needed intense focus. Often the feelings would surface once the brain ensured that the body was safe. While he knew that it was perfectly logical and expected that this would happen at some point, he didn’t want an audience for when he inevitably flipped his shit. Walking further down the beach, Clay took a deep breath, held it for four counts, and then tried to breathe out slowly for four counts, coughing when the air got stuck in his throat. Raising his arms above his head, Clay continued to try and utilize the square breathing method when he felt a tap on his shoulder and lost the little air he had in his lungs as he felt himself cave into a hunched position, wheezing. 

* * *

Standing on the beach with his brothers, Trent was half listening to Brock recount how many fish he had seen in the ocean and how he thought he had seen a shark, knowing full well that the waters they were in were not habitable to half the species that Brock was describing. His attention was better suited to his youngest brother, walking further down the beach. Something wasn’t right. 

“Looks like Blondie is a bit of a pansy ass after all,” Sonny chortled, not even bothering to conceal his disdain for the rookie in front of Jason. 

The goading continued, but Trent didn’t say a word. Even from a distance, Trent could see that Clay was breathing heavily, which might be normal for someone after completing what was easily a ten mile swim, but not for Clay. The kid had beaten out all of Jason’s old records, he was in the best shape of his life. Not exactly the picture of someone who got out of breath from a little swim. Striding towards Clay, Trent was dead set on examining the kid. He was breathing far too rapidly to be exercise induced and if he was going to pass out, he wanted to be there to catch the kid before he could crack his skull open. A little ways away from Clay, the oxygen tank that was part of Clay’s kit was stuck in the sand, water lapping around it gently. 

Stopping short in front of the canister, he eyed Clay. Still breathing far too quickly, but this would only take a second. He had a gut feeling that the oxygen tank was part of the problem. And he was right. Trent walked over to the tank, looking at the gauge that measured the oxygen remaining in the canister. He knew for a fact that Brock’s was normal, arrow firmly in the green. But when he looked at Clay’s his eyebrows shot up on his face: how on Earth did he manage to use enough oxygen to nearly deplete the entire canister ?

“Trent, what’s wrong?” Jason asked quietly, effectively silencing the trio of babbling buffoons on his right. 

He didn’t get an answer. Trent grabbed his kit from Davis and jogged down the shoreline, intent on reaching his brother. Coming closer to Clay, Trent watched as his body literally vibrated with the effort it took to breathe. Stopping just behind him, Trent reached out his hand to put on his shoulder and was surprised when Clay whirled around before bending at the waist, breaths coming in short, frantic bursts.

“Hey, hey kid, it’s fine stand up for me,” Trent heaved his shoulders up and looked at Clay’s face. Their typically brash and overconfident rookie was  _ scared _ , eyes flickering randomly and hands gripping his arms.

Suddenly, it clicked for Trent. The kid was having a panic attack. He wondered what triggered it, it couldn’t have been the dive. They were sailors for chrissake.

“It’s ok, it happens to the best of us, sit down, it’ll pass,” Trent used a voice similar to the one he used with Mikey when he was upset. In reality there was more than a ten year difference between Mikey and Clay, but if the shoe fit… “Just try and take some deep breaths.”

“Trent,” Clay gasped. “I, I can’t, Trent, it’s not.” Clay couldn’t even get a full sentence out, tears were starting to stream down his face. 

“Little bud, you’re fine,” Trent soothed. “I’m here with you, you’re safe, on a beach. You and Brock made it out.” Trent continued to mutter nonsense when Clay’s hand grabbed his arm, fingernails biting into the mangled flesh of his forearm. The kid never truly voluntarily asked for help, medical or otherwise, but something was making him ask now, and Trent sure as hell wasn’t going to say no, not to him. Some direction on what the root of the problem was would have been appreciated, though. 

Trent racked his brain for anything that could have made the kid panic. Clay was an experienced swimmer. He had made countless dives that were well over the length and depth that he had just completed. The mission, albeit his first with Bravo, had gone off without a hitch and command was pleased with them. There was literally nothing to be anxious about, yet here he was hyperventilating on the shore of Indonesia. 

If he wasn’t anxious, something else was causing shortness of breath. Trent mentally catalogued what he could see in front of him, frantically assessing and reassessing as Clay struggled for breath. Shortness of breath. Tachycardia. Retractions. They looked like a panic attack yet the treatment modalities weren’t working.  _ Think, Sawyer, what the fuck was causing this _ . Trent saw Clay’s other hand reach up to grasp at his neck from the corner of his eye as he coughed, and it clicked. Exploratory wheezes. Panic attacks don’t cause wheezing. 

Airway obstructions cause wheezing. 

Internally Trent berated himself. The motherfucker wasn’t having an anxiety attack,  _ he couldn’t fucking breathe _ . “Clay, you’re not anxious are you?” Trent grunted, trying to force Clay in an upright position. 

Clay nodded emphatically, coughing as he tried to suck in any air. He would be fine if he could just take a deep fucking breath. Tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, he gasped, ready to beg for anything that would help him breathe. 

Anything at all.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

Springing to his knees, Trent dug his stethoscope out of his kit, bellowing across the sand, “Jason!” He turned back to Clay and reassured him, “I gotcha Clay, you’re gonna be just fine. I got you little bud, don’t worry.”

Clay nodded frantically. Black spots were appearing over his field of vision, the horizon line was tilting at an odd angle and Trent’s voice sounded vaguely far away.

* * *

Jason was finishing signing a report for Davis when he heard Trent yell, which was an oxymoron in it of itself. The mild mannered medic never raised his voice, was never flustered in the field. Dropping the pen, Jason hauled ass with Sonny and Ray to where Trent was kneeling next to Clay, cutting his wetsuit off with the trauma shears. 

Shit, if Trent brought out the trauma shears nothing good was happening. What the hell could Clay have gotten into with Brock watching him? 

“Bravo Four, SitRep,” Jason barked, not liking the way that Clay was listlessly swaying from side to side, wheezing audibly, even to his untrained ears. 

“Can’t tell, think it’s an airway obstruction of some sort,” Trent muttered, sticking the earpieces of his stethoscope back into place.  _ Please don’t be a tension pneumo _ , he thought to himself, because they didn’t have half of the supplies that he would need if Clay had somehow developed a collapsed lung.  _ Anything but that, please _ . Listening carefully, he moved the bell back and forth, sighing in relief when breath sounds were heard bilaterally. No tension pneumo. 

But he was wheezing. What the fuck was causing the wheezing?

There was nothing that he could have aspirated. The regulator was intact and the tank was fresh, Davis had ensured that the equipment was working before they had even thought to go for a swim. He didn’t take a hit, there was no trauma to the thorax. Ruled out pulmonary edema. This shit was going to piss him off, there was no medical reason that the kid should be in respiratory distress.

“Trent, what can we do?” Ray said, standing over his shoulder. Trent had obviously called him over for a reason, and it sure as shit wasn’t to stand around and watch Clay Spenser choke to death on his own breath. 

“Find me the inhaler,” Trent growled, rubbing his hand along Clay’s back trying to get him to take a deeper breath. With no way to identify the pathology, Trent was operating on his gut. At worst, the inhaler would increase his heart rate, but if it worked? Open airway. Just what the doctor ordered. 

“Clay, Clay, I need you to hold your breath for me, as long as you can.” Trent got right up into his face, but he was confused, unsure of why he was telling him not to breathe, didn’t he know that that was the problem in the first place? “The inhaler is going to help open up your airway, but I need you to be able to take a deep breath. Hold your breath Clay!”

Clay was hyperventilating so fast that he was retaining too much carbon dioxide, easily putting him at risk for respiratory acidosis. Yet another way that he could meet his maker today. As he tried to mimic his breathing for Clay, he distantly heard Ray and Sonny fighting over the contents of the med kit, but he couldn’t focus on that. They would figure it out or Trent would do it for them, if Clay ever managed to hold his breath for more than a second.

“Trent, you do not have an inhaler in here!” Ray said, rummaging through the kit. 

“Yes there is, look harder!” He knew exactly what was in that kit. Knew which medications he ran out of first and which ones he used so seldom that he almost forgot he stocked them in his kit. Knew that there was an inhaler in there, even if he had never used it. He was sure of it. 

Ray turned to Trent, retort on the tip of his tongue when he caught a glimpse of Clay. His lips were turning a sickly shade of blue and the way his chest moved made Ray’s own chest hurt. Turning back to the med kit, Ray dumped the entire medication packet out on the sand, scrambling for the little inhaler that he found tucked into a pocket underneath the morphine vials. “Here, I got it.”

Clay let his gaze linger on all of his brothers, thinking that this was the way that he would go, from a stupid freaking panic attack. An object was thrust into his hands and for a second Clay didn’t understand what was happening, but it clicked. He had an inhaler. Putting his lips around the mouthpiece, Clay depressed the inhaler twice, feeling his breathing begin to slow. Slumping against someone, he didn’t have the energy to try and determine which of his brothers was holding him up, Clay took another two puffs, and closed his eyes. His brothers had him.

He felt the hands that settled him in the chopper basket and then into his hammock on the C17, but didn’t have the energy to open his eyes. He didn’t know how long they were in the air before his eyes opened again, landing on Trent sitting directly beside him, glare fixed on his face. 

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Trent said quietly. The rest of the boys had finally fallen asleep after being lectured by Trent on the importance of everyone checking in after an OP, and how they had failed to mention that to their newest member. He didn’t want to incite a panic by being too loud, they would probably wake up half-cocked thinking that Clay was in respiratory distress again. 

“I don’t know Trent, one minute I was swimming and fine and then the next I couldn’t catch my breath, gasping for air, even with the tank,” Clay muttered, trying to roll over and sit upright. 

“Have you ever had problems breathing before? Is this something new?” Trent leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. A new onset of respiratory difficulties wasn’t unheard of, but Trent was leaning more towards a panic response than a physiologic response. It would just be tough getting Clay to admit that.

“As a kid, I had asthma, but I haven’t had an attack in over ten years. Thought I grew out of it,” Clay groaned, rubbing his hand over his eyes. 

Well. 

There went the panic response. 

The kid had fucking asthma and didn’t think to tell anyone before he was sent underwater, where he literally couldn’t breathe, and expected it to be fine. Searching his face for any signs of remorse, Trent realized that the kid legitimately didn’t think it was a problem. The kid was going to give him gray hairs, that was certain. 

“Even if you haven’t had an asthma attack, conditions like diving for a prolonged period of time can exacerbate those symptoms,” Trent explained slowly, watching the recognition come across Clay’s face. 

Quietly, Clay asked Trent with as much courage as he could muster, “Is this going to prevent me from operating?”

Of all the things that could have come out of Clay’s mouth Trent wasn’t expecting that response. Chuckling slightly, Trent ruffled Clay’s hair, just like he would when Mikey got too serious. “No, we’ll deal with it as it comes up, but didn’t we handle this problem already? No more hiding shit like this, ok? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything. We clear?”

Clay nodded and laid back down in his hammock, eyes slipping closed once more. He was lucky that Trent was willing to work with him instead of booting him off Bravo, not many teams were like that, but Bravo was family. As he drifted to sleep, Clay faintly heard the scratching of a pen on paper, but he didn’t want to investigate it further, Trent would tell him if he needed to know. 

Trent watched as the kid fell asleep, somehow looking younger than he already did, golden hair and angelic face relaxed in sleep. Searching through his kit, Trent came across the field notebook and pen that he had written down all of the pertinent medical information about his brothers, from blood type to medication preferences, it was all there for Trent to access if he needed, not that these pages weren’t already seared into Trent’s memory. Sighing, Trent took out the spare and scrawled ‘Clay Spenser’ on the front, something told him that he would need the entire book for just Clay.

Opening to a fresh page, Trent wrote:

Asthma

  * Childhood asthma, only trigger noted is diving (so far)
  * Albuterol controlled acute symptoms, took double dose for effectiveness, four puffs instead of two
  * Make SURE to differentiate between panic response and physiologic response, they closely mimic one another



Closing the notebook, Trent let his own eyes fall shut. If they were going to keep the kid, he would have to sit down with Jason and Ray and come up with a game plan for keeping the kid safe. This would be a full time job between the five of them but their brother was worth the trouble. Trent just hoped that the kid wouldn’t give him an aneurysm before he was set to retire.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Orange - Dehydration

Squinting from the glare of the sun overhead, Clay sighed. This wasn’t his favorite mission and definitely not his favorite job to do while his brothers were at risk, playing private security for some cake eater. But when command called, you went, even when you disagreed with the decisions. 

“Bravo Six to Two, anything on your side?” Clay was bored, there was absolutely no reason that this one dignitary needed an entire special operations team to cover his ass.

“Nothing by me, Six.”

Clay knew that Ray was somewhere on the opposite side of the valley where this tribe had claimed their home, he just couldn’t see him from his angle. 

“Wish they would hurry up so we can get out of here,” Clay responded. 

“I know, feel like I’m sweatier than Sonny after he found out that scorpions were a type of spider,” Ray complanied. 

Clay just chuckled, Ray hated sweating almost as much as Sonny hated sharks. Sitting out in the heat without an end in sight had to be torture. “At least we don’t have to pretend to be interested in what’s going on in there.”

“That’s true, but we’d be in the shade,” Ray countered. 

Clay didn’t answer, movement taking his attention away from his conversation with Ray. Focusing through his scope, Clay could feel the distant thump of a headache behind his eyes. The mountain ranged wavered and shimmered in the oppressive heat and out of the corner of his eye, he thought that something was moving. Clay was satisfied after a moment of two when nothing rustled in the thick brush. But the feeling of being watched lingered in the small hairs on the back of his neck. Someone was out there. He just couldn’t see them yet.

Lifting away from his rifle, Clay grabbed the canteen of water that he had set next to him. After taking a quick sip of water, Clay capped the bottle again and went back to his rifle. His lips were chapped and every inch of exposed skin felt hot and dry. Maybe he was starting to get a sunburn, Davis would hopefully have some aloe for him back in the helo. She always seemed to know what he needed before he had to ask her for it. 

“Six, you see movement?” The comms crackled to life again and Clay did a sweep of his section of the valley. Not seeing anything, Clay took a few more moments to look closely. The air was shimmering around him and every few seconds it looked like there was movement, but it wasn’t enough to justify taking a shot and causing potential panic. Not if he couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing. “Negative, two.”

The boys sat in silence, watching the series of huts at the bottom of the valley. There was no movement, no credible threats, and no reason for them to be lying on their bellies in the sun. Yes it was Jbad and no one wanted to be there longer than they had to be, but this was a little ridiculous. Midnight meetings were much better suited for this climate and Clay wished that the tribal leaders would start to get the message. 

Sitting back on his heels, Clay took out the bottle of water again. He tried to sip slowly and made it through the first bottle without a problem. It was the second bottle that made his stomach threaten to rebel. Taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, Clay tried to command his stomach to relax, just like Trent had taught him. He hoped that he wasn’t coming down with some stomach bug, it would make the flight back home miserable if he was vomiting every five seconds. 

Laying back down, Clay was glad to see that there was movement from inside of the hut. Flicking through the channels on his comms, Clay found the open channel. “How’s it going, we almost done in there?”

“Blondie, we are going as fast as we can, why does someone need a potty break?” Sonny snarked. Clay knew that it wasn’t personal, there was only so much bureaucracy that he could handle on any given day. 

“Nah I’m good out here Son, just checking in on everything. It’s all quiet out here, boss.” Clay didn’t rise to Sonny’s bait. He knew that he was just trying to get a rise out of him and it was better to not respond, he’d get him back later.

“Sonny, at least you get to be inside, in the shade. Clay and I are dying out here,” Ray shot back, clearly unhappy with the tone of his voice and his complaints. Everyone was a little tightly wound, hopefully this would be over soon and they could all go home and get some sleep. 

“They’re finishing up, soon as they sign the damn paper we can get out of here.” Jason settled all arguments with one sentence. Clearly he wasn’t happy about being sent out on a bullshit mission either. It was one thing for a mission to be necessary, but a trade agreement over some fucking cattle in Jbad didn’t really rank very high on the importance list. They all listened to the babble about this being an important first step for some tribal leaders, but they weren’t very impressed. A marine unit could have handled this job and they could be home with their families for another week. 

Sighing, Clay squeezed his eyes tightly and licked his lips. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused when there was nothing to focus on. ISR didn’t show anything and it was calm, he could only hope that it would stay that way for a little, but of course it wasn’t possible. His luck wasn’t that good. With his vision wavering, he spotted the unmistakable outline of a rifle poking out from an outcropping of rocks, pointed right towards the hut where his brothers were protecting the cake eater. Shit. 

“Six to two, movement on my eight o’clock. How copy?” Clay tensed, finger over the trigger of his rifle. The angle wasn’t ideal but if Ray didn’t have a shot either, it was on him. 

“Negative, no shot, I repeat, no shot.” 

And that decided it, Clay had to take the shot. Slowing his breath, Clay closed his eyes. Opening them he took the shot, watching the target crumple. “Target eliminated, all clear.”

“Good copy, Bravo Six,” Jason said. “You and Ray are clear to come in.”

Internally cheering, Clay broke down his rifle and stowed it in the case. Taking a moment to drink more of his water, Clay waited for the dizzy sensation to go away. He sipped slowly, the small amount of water that he managed to drink came right back up and left Clay feeling worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Standing, Clay wavered for a moment, catching himself before he fell down the mountain. His hands throbbed in time with his head and for a moment his vision swam and he thought that he was going to pass out. He waited for a moment, hoping the sensation would pass and when it did he booked it double time down the mountain. Clay was grateful that Jason had sent Ray out with him on the mountain range If he went down a second time, at least there was someone with him that would have his back. He would never live it down if the boys had to come and get him after passing out. Again. 

By the time he made it down to Ray, he was panting, mouth dry and head pounding. Raising his hands over his head, Clay tried to catch his breath before pulling out a third water bottle from his pack. Over the last year Blackburn had beat into his head that water was the most important thing that they could carry when they went out during the day and right now Clay was grateful that the water was staying where it was supposed to be, in his stomach. Breathing slowly, Clay missed the looks that Ray was throwing at him, more focused on trying to stay upright than reading his brother’s facial cues. 

* * *

Ray made it down the mountainside in record time, shirt sticking his back and sweat dripping down his forehead. The sooner that they could make it into the shade the better he would feel. Drinking from his canteen, he looked for any signs that Spenser was on his way. It hadn’t been long, but the kid was usually faster than all of them. Ray placed his fingers on his comms unit, hoping that he would come into view in the next minute or so. Clay wasn’t missing or stuck up on that hill, he was just taking the scenic route. It would be fine. Ray just hoped that he wouldn’t have to go after him, kid was getting too heavy to lift every time he went down somewhere. It wasn’t worth it to cause panic if it wasn’t necessary. He would be fine.

When the kid finally came down, Ray took a double take. His skin was red and blistered and his lips were chapped. Chuckling to himself, Ray thought ruefully that the kid had forgotten to put on his sunblock before they went out. They had all made that mistake at one point or another and he wouldn’t make that mistake ever again. But as he watched Clay walk towards him, something kept niggling in the back of his mind. The kid didn’t look right. 

“Good shot there, kid,” Ray said, trekking down towards the Humvee behind Clay. 

“Thanks,” Clay mumbled… and was that a wheeze? 

The pair fell into an uneasy silence where Ray got more and more worried the longer he was quiet. Normally the kid would be talking up a storm about how he wished that they weren’t on this mission because it wasn’t their job to take care of dignitaries. Or he would be talking to him about Emma and the latest escapade she told him about the kids. Hell, he would just be talking about anything. Clay Spenser was not a quiet man, something was wrong. They finally made their way to the others and Ray met Trent’s eyes, jerking his head towards Spenser, who was sitting under the shade of an alcove where Sonny was waiting. He hoped that Trent would be able to figure out what was wrong with the kid, the mission was going too smoothly, there had to be a catch somewhere. 

* * *

Trent saw Ray’s look but before going over to Clay, he took a few minutes to observe him sitting next to Sonny. The first observation was that he was quiet, or at least quieter than usual, letting Sonny ramble and mutter half-hearted agreements, when he paused long enough for Clay to get a word out. The second was that he could tell his head hurt: his eyebrows were pinched together and he was squinting, in the shade. Definitely a headache. The third observation was that he had vomited recently. As time went on, Trent started to pick up on some of the small things that Clay did when he was trying to hide an injury. Hell, he had an entire section in his notebook dedicated to the strange habits of Clay Spenser. For some reason, after tossing his cookies, Clay licked his lips compulsively. Wasn’t aware that he was doing it or that anyone else had noticed, but it was a sure fire way to know if he had been sick lately. 

_ Wait, that was it _ . If the kid had been out in the sun for a few hours and had been vomiting, he was fucking dehydrated and didn’t even know it. For fuck’s sake he was going to beat the signs and symptoms of dehydration into these boys if it was the last thing he did. Striding over to Clay, Trent stood in front of him and waited for Clay to focus in on his face. “Kid, when was the last time you drank something today?”

Trent wanted to cut right to the chase, not in the mood to baby Clay. If he wanted to be dumb enough not to bring water with him when he was out in the sun, then that was on him; Trent wasn’t going to be nice to him. No one got coddled when it was their own fault. 

“A couple of minutes ago, finished the bottle of water,” Clay replied, having a hard time focusing in on Trent.There were currently two of him shimmering in front of his eyes. 

“And did you drink anything when you were hiding out?” Trent prodded further. It was good that he had started to drink water, but one measly bottle wasn’t going to prevent dehydration in full gear in temperatures well over a hundred degrees. 

“Yeah, I had two bottles while I was up there.”

Trent opened his mouth and closed it again. They weren’t on the mountainside for that long, three bottles of water should have been more than enough to keep him hydrated enough for the amount of time he was out in the sun. Well. There was no way that he could dehydrate that fast if he had already drank three bottles of water, even if he was vomiting. 

Trent pulled out the kit of IV tubing. They were going to exfil in a Humvee, it would be fine if Clay had to sit in the back and rest, it wasn’t a big deal. He had a feeling that he was going to need the full story, and a sinking sensation that he wasn’t going to like the story either. “Clay, run me through what happened today, what are you feeling?”

Clay put his head back against the wall of the hut, closing his eyes at the sun peaking through the slits of the roof. “Had a headache before we came out, took two of the liquid gels like normal. We went out and I had some water, headache got worse. Started to get light headed, light bothered me, really hard to concentrate. Hurled once, nothing really came up. Finished three bottles of water. Not really too sure why this is happening, man.”

The two men lapsed into an uneasy silence. Medical mysteries were common in the kid, but this was something that they expected and trained for and worked to prevent. The preventative measures should have worked and yet the kid was paler than Sonny when he realized that there was more than one type of shark. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Trent?” Clay said, wavering. His head was pounding in his ears and he couldn’t focus. “I don’t feel so well.”

“What  _ kind  _ of ‘don’t feel well’?” Yeah, the kid was sunburnt and probably didn’t feel too hot, but they had all been there before and Clay wasn’t a stranger to dehydration. 

“I dunno, weird.”

Helpful. So, so incredibly helpful. Trent knew that the kid wasn’t trying to be difficult, but it was hard to help him when he couldn’t identify what was happening. “You’ll be fine when we get out of the sun, just stay where you are. The Humvee’s on its way.”

“No, Trent, it’s something, I don’t know…” 

Trent popped his head up from calculating the drop rate for the IV fluids to look at Clay’s face. Just in time to watch his eyes roll back in his head and his body go limp. 

Fuck. The kid had actually fainted on him. 

Then it dawned on him. If the kid had fainted, it was definitely past the point of moderate dehydration. Of all the fucking places that Clay could keel over, he chooses an area where Trent couldn’t get him medical attention. 

“Ray,” he called out. Sonny turned at the sound of his call and helped to ease Clay on his back, still in full gear. 

“What happened?” Ray cursed, grabbing his other arm to help Sonny. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, he look different to you coming down from his nest?”

“I mean he was quiet, wheezing a little. I figured his asthma was acting up again, but he didn’t pull out his inhaler.” Trent nodded, pleased that Ray was keeping an eye out on the kid when he wasn’t with him. After the last bout of respiratory distress, Trent had found him his own inhaler that he kept in the pocket of his fatigues. He must have been breathing heavily because he was dizzy, and was trying to catch his breath.

With Clay flat on his back, Ray held up his feet and Sonny used some of the water from his canteen to drip down his neck. Palpating over his arm, Trent struggled to find a vein that he could use. He was a difficult stick on a normal day, but with his level of dehydration it would be even harder. Aiming carefully at the largest vein he could find, Trent inserted the needle and prayed for a flashback of blood. After three different sticks, he finally inserted the IV, but Clay still wasn’t coming around. 

_ Five more minutes,  _ he thought to himself. He would give the kid five more minutes before he decided to panic.  _ Let the fluid work, it takes time. _ Trent’s eyes darted back and forth between Clay’s face and the second hand on his watch. Finally at four minutes and fifty six seconds, Clay’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey kid, welcome back,” Trent practically shouted, wanting to keep the kid conscious for as long as possible. 

“Trent, I fainted?” Clay licked his lips and for a brief moment, Trent thought he was going to hurl. At least he got the IV in before he came around, one less thing to nauseate the kid.

“You did, but it’s ok. We’ve got it under control, just lay back.” Trent gently pushed on Clay’s shoulders, forcing him back into Sonny’s lap. The last thing they needed right now was for him to try and get up and fall because the son of a bitch was still dizzy.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m gonna figure it out, promise,” Trent soothed, watching carefully as his eyes closed again and his breathing settled. He didn’t think the kid passed out again and he wasn’t asleep. But he was resting, more than Trent thought he would get at the moment.

Setting the tubing aside and giving the bag to Sonny, Trent went through the things in his brain that could logically cause the kid to go down. A headache wasn’t really something to worry about, he usually had a headache if he didn’t sleep more than four hours. They were lucky to catch a quick nap before they were spun up this time. He wasn’t sick, Clay tended to bite his lip when he didn’t feel well or if he was really not feeling well he liked to rub his neck. He wasn’t doing any of that. The only thing was the liquid gels, but those were on the approved medication list. As the fluid was starting to drip, Trent pulled out his pocket drug book from the kit, thumbing to the page on ibuprofen. 

Son of a bitch. 

Right there on the page, under adverse effects it was fucking spelled out for him.

Headache. Dizziness. Photosensitivity. Dermatitis. 

The kid took the liquid gel before he went out in the sun, where all of the side effects that he normally didn’t feel when he was home manifested themselves because these weren’t in normal conditions, they were in the fucking desert. Shit. Trent closed the drug book and shook Clay’s shoulder gently, pleased when his eyes opened right away and focused on his face. “You’re dehydrated, it’s a side effect from the liquid gels. You can’t take them if you’re going to be out in the sun for a long period of time,” Trent explained, looking at the dry, irritated face of his brother. 

Clay sat and thought for a minute. He wasn’t thirsty and didn’t feel like drinking, but if Trent said he was dehydrated, it had to be true. In a small voice, Clay asked, “Do you have any Gatorade packets?”

“Yeah, I have some. I got the light blue flavor that Em said you liked,” Trent shook the packet into another bottle of water and watched Clay sip it slowly, making sure that the liquid stayed in his stomach. After a few sips, Trent saw Clay guzzle the bottle and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand when he was finished. Satisfied that he was fine, Trent sat in the Humvee and waited for the signal to head out. 

While he had the time, he opened to a fresh page in his pocket notebook. Of course the kid didn’t have the normal signs and symptoms to dehydration, why would he? Uncapping his pen, he began to write everything that he could remember, hoping that he would never have to use this particular information again, although that didn’t seem likely with the amount of time that they spent in the desert.

Dehydration:

  * The kid tended to have visual disturbances and stomach cramping with vomiting before he felt thirsty. 
  * Needed to start carrying Gatorade rather than plain water, would help with the muscle cramping and dizziness. 
  * No liquid gels in the sun!



Trent hoped that while things were calming down on the helo, he would get a chance to talk to Clay. It was good that he was able to get to the rest of them before things went bad, but one day that might not always be the case and the kid needed to learn how to take care of himself. Trent hoped that that day never came, but it was never a bad thing to be more informed, especially when they continued to find things about the kid that weren’t ‘normal’. He needed all the help he could get at this point. 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Yellow - Head Injuries

Sweat was dripping down Clay’s face as he dribbled the basketball on the makeshift concrete pad that they had found on the decrepit base in Jalalabad. The hoop was barely standing straight and the net was long gone, but it served its purpose for the ansty SEALs stationed there for yet another deployment. Bravo and Delta were waiting on the orders to go home and were getting more and more anxious by the day, hence the reason for another three-on-three basketball game in the middle of the afternoon. Anything to keep their minds from going insane from inactivity. 

“Blondie, shoot the ball and stop dancing,” one of the men on Delta taunted. Clay didn’t know any of them that well, but he didn’t need to know them to do the job, or to play basketball. 

Clay didn’t respond, just pivoted on his feet and sent the ball flying to Ray for him to make a shot. Clay wasn’t the best at basketball, but he knew the basics. Ray was much better at basketball and Clay was more than content to let him take the glory of the win. When Ray was in a good mood, the entire team was in a good mood and Clay wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. Clay watched as Ray made the shot effortlessly, grinning at the face of displeasure on Delta’s team leader’s face. 

“Alright boys, next shot wins, I gotta catch some beauty sleep before this flight,” Sonny drawled, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Clay secretly thought that Sonny just wanted some uninterrupted time with Davis before they had to go back home. Either way, Clay wouldn’t mind finishing up, maybe he would call Em and see if she was still awake. She didn’t know that they were flying home soon and for once he had good news to share with her. 

Delta’s 2IC threw the ball to their medic, but it was easily intercepted by Ray. As Ray dribbled down the concrete pad, he passed the ball to Clay, who was then surrounded by the three men on Delta. Unable to pass to Ray or Sonny, Clay dribbled the ball and looked for an opening. Thinking quickly, he darted in between two bodies and made his shot, not seeing the elbow coming towards his face. There was a sharp pain exploding at his temple and then there was nothing. The next thing that Clay knew he was lying on his back with Sonny and Ray’s face hovering over him. 

* * *

Sonny watched in horror from the opposite side of the court as Clay went up for his layup. After living and breathing with the kid for almost a year and a half, Sonny knew when he was going to come up with a harebrained scheme. Hell, at this point the hair on the back of his neck stood up when Clay decided to even  _ think _ about doing something stupid. Sonny was too far from the kid to do anything and everything appeared as if it was in slow motion:Clay pivoted, ducked his head, and tried to sneak through a very small opening between two very broad men, it wasn’t going to end well. Sonny watched as Delta’s 2IC lunged forward and his elbow connected solidly with Clay’s temple. 

The kid went down like a stack of bricks and didn’t get back up.

For a moment, while Clay laid silent and not moving on the ground, none of the other men moved either, stunned that an elbow of all things had taken out a tier one operator. On base no less. Gathering his wits, Sonny dashed across the concrete to Clay, shoving the other members of Delta out of the way. Kneeling by his side, Sonny didn’t really know what to do here. He didn’t want to touch him and somehow make it worse. Besides, Trent had beat into their heads that if something happened and they didn’t know what to do, as long as they weren’t actively dying the best thing to do was to not touch them. Then send someone for Trent. 

“What was running through your tiny brain that you thought an elbow was useful in a game of basketball?” Sonny spat, hands hovering over Clay’s chest, before settling on his shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that Clay had decided that he wanted to take a nap in the middle of the court. His face was relaxed and you could see the slight twitch of his right hand. The same twitch that Sonny teased him about, Clay was schwacking targets in his sleep every time his trigger finger twitched. 

“Easy brother, it was an accident,” Ray knelt on the opposite side of Clay and did the smart, responsible thing and began to check his heart rate while looking over his head and neck. Sonny smacked himself mentally, why didn’t he think to see if Blondie was even alright? He just assumed he had his bell rung. Some brother he was. 

“He’s right, it was an accident, I didn’t mean him any harm,” the 2IC objected. Sonny could tell that he was feeling badly, but it still made him want to rip into the asshole. No one should be allowed to get hurt on base, it was as close to being safe as they could manage.

But of course, Clay Spenser could find trouble in a padded room, a naval base shouldn’t really be all that different. 

“Do you want me to take a look?” Their medic asked timidly, not wanting to anger the two men any more than they already had.

Sonny glared. No, he did not want some harebrained medic looking over their brother, this man was no Trent. And there was no one else he would want looking over Clay, not with half of the convoluted, ass-backwards medical problems. It was a point of contention whenever Trent found something new that the other members of Bravo had noticed and had failed to mention. If they were going to keep Clay, they all needed to work together to keep him alive and well, especially from his damn self. 

“No, look, he’s coming around,” Ray pointed out. “Spenser, hey kid. Yeah that’s it, open your eyes.” Ray cajoled, smacking his face gently.

Blowing a breath, Sonny glanced at the still standing members of Delta. “I think we got it from here boys, you can consider this one a Bravo win.”

Effectively dismissed, they half jogged, half walked away. They were lucky to be getting off scot-free and they weren’t going to push their luck by overstaying their welcome. 

“Hey there Blondie, didn’t you know that you were supposed to duck when someone lunges at you?” Sonny joked, happy to see Clay’s blue eyes staring at him. 

Clay just stared back at him, unfocusing. “Sonny?”

“Yeah little buddy, Ray’s on the other side”

“Why am I on the floor? We still in Jbad?”

Oh this wasn’t good. Kid got his bell rung, hard. Sharing a loaded glance with Ray, Sonny responded carefully. “Yeah kid, we’re in Jbad. Delta guy nailed you in the head with his elbow. You remember playing basketball?”

Clay squinted, hand coming up to rest over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. He thought for a moment: what did he remember? Was he playing basketball? He certainly was sweaty enough for it, but at the same time, it was Jbad. They sweat even when they were in the freezing cold shower. 

“Clay?” Ray prodded. “You remember playing basketball?”

Clay just shook his head, unsure of what he did or didn’t remember. He just wanted to get out of the sun. And maybe vomit. 

Ok and definitely vomit. 

Rolling over to his side, Clay gagged and spit, slippery bile and water making an appearance on the ground next to him. He felt the patting hands of Ray on his back and Sonny holding him on his side. Once he was finished, he sagged against those hands, breathing deeply for a moment. The world was spinning and he didn’t want to open his eyes. Maybe the guys would let him stay put for a little bit, there was no need to go anywhere. 

“Alright kid, we’re going to see Trent. Come on, up you get.” Ray made the executive decision long before Clay started vomiting, but once the dry heaving began it confirmed the decision. The kid had a concussion and Trent was not going to be pleased that he was babysitting again for the night. The kid definitely owed him more than a case of beer for this one.

Staggering with Clay between them, Ray and Sonny made their way across the base, enduring pitying looks. To the outsider, it looked like Clay had gotten a little too drunk, feet dragging and stumbling, a silly look on his face. By the time they had found Trent, they were dragging the kid behind them into the small space where they set up their bunks.

“What the fuck happened?” Trent was having a nice afternoon. It was peaceful, serene even, definitely too good to be true. He was set up in a comfy chair, Cerberus was lying next to him, and he had finally found a worthwhile medical reference that might explain why Clay had so many medication allergies. Anything that brought him closer to figuring out the kid was a good thing in his mind. 

“Well, you see. We were playing a game of basketball and Blondie here thought it would be a good idea to try and be a ballerina instead of a sailor. Got nailed in the temple with an elbow,” Sonny explained, trying to gauge how pissed off Trent was at them. Judging from the way that he was clenching and unclenching his hands, pretty damned pissed. Well shit. 

“Get him set up on his bunk. I don’t need him swan diving.” Trent turned away from a moment, shaking his head. Grabbing his kit, his head jerked at the sound of Clay’s voice.

“Ou suis-je? Ou sont mes freres?” Clay’s voice was strained, gritty with confusion. “Qui es tu?”

The boys went silent in the bunks, each glancing uneasily at one another. This was new. None of them spoke a lick of French and they couldn’t exactly ask for a translator just because Clay couldn’t sort out his languages. Wasn’t exactly an ethical use of resources.

Kneeling next to Clay’s bunk, Trent put his face directly in front of his, hoping the sight of him would spark something in his mind. “How hard did he get hit?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Ray sputtered. Definitely not hard enough to scramble his brains to the wrong frequency. None of them even realized that Clay spoke French. All of the languages he spoke were in his jacket, but it was more of a party trick than a skill that they utilized frequently. 

“Cosa vuole da me?” Clay interrupted the bickering hens above him. They weren’t listening but Clay couldn’t figure out what they were saying to him. 

“Did he just switch languages?” Sonny asked incredulously. “Kid, English, you speak it, use that one.” Sonny wanted to throttle the kid. They all spoke English, but if he would just pick a language that they all understood it would be fine. 

“I don’t even think he knows that he’s switching between languages,” Trent mused, snapping on a pair of gloves before gently palpating Clay’s head and neck. That was interesting, they had never seen this side of the kid before. Illnesses were typically met with stoicism, only complaining when things got so bad that Trent wanted to throttle the kid for not coming to him sooner. He understood why and cursed the fact that Ash Spenser was even still living, but by now he should know that his brothers would take care of him.

“‘Ajbani min fadlik!” Clay’s voice was strained, high pitched as Trent pushed against the sensitive skin of his temple. Trent winced, that was a language he understood, and moved to apologize for hurting him, but Sonny beat him to the punch. 

“Hey there, we’re sorry Clay. Gotta make sure nothing’s broken. Good thing you got such a hard head kid,” Sonny drawled softly, holding one of Clay’s hands in his.

“Sonny,” Clay mumbled, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. “Tha’ you?”

“Yeah Blondie, it’s me. You gonna pick a language?”

“Only been speaking one,” Clay groaned. His head hurt too much to try and follow what Ray and Trent were saying in the background. Sonny was closest to him and even through his babbling, Clay didn’t have to pay attention very long. 

“Well from now on, make sure that language is English, please,” Sonny joked half-heartedly. He didn’t like the way that Clay’s eyes were refusing to focus on his face, tracking between the ceiling fan that was swinging in the heat and the picture of Emma pinned to the bottom of his bunk. He wasn’t sure, but he could tell that Clay wasn’t really in there, the lights were on but no was home.

“Sure Son, what happened?” Clay was quick to reassure him, but he was still really confused about the details. His head hurt, the small amount of light that was in the bunker strained his eyes, and his stomach was threatening to rebel.

Sonny hesitated before looking to Trent, who nodded at him. “You took an elbow to the head, you have a concussion.” Trent hadn’t said the words but Sonny was fairly certain that even without the confirmation from Trent, Clay had a concussion. A fairly moderate one, but still concussed nonetheless. 

“Oh, ok.” 

Trent sat back and watched Clay. His eyes were crinkled in the corners and he was licking his lip, so in pain and nauseous. Great. It would be a long night. “Clay, you feel like you’re going to hurl?”

“No, nauseous though. Can I have a liquid gel?” Clay shook his head and grimaced at the sensation of his brain rattling around in his skull, not the best move. 

“Wanna try the IV Tylenol? Gonna work faster, and I can get some fluids in you.” It was well documented that Clay hated needles, but the intravenous form of medication would decrease his pain a hell of a lot faster than an oral medication. It would also let Trent keep an eye on his fluid status, but no one could force him into an IV if he didn’t want one. The first time that Clay had gotten hurt on an OP, he swore up and down that he would never treat Clay without his consent if he was conscious and it wasn’t emergent. He wasn’t going to break that promise over a mild concussion. Ultimately, it was Clay’s decision, but if Trent could persuade him… that would be the better outcome for all of them. 

“Sure,” Clay offered his arm out without looking, striking Ray clumsily in the thigh. He closed his eyes as Trent worked on tying the tourniquet over his elbow and palpating for a vein. The thought of watching the needle pierce his skin made his stomach roll more than the concussion and he had no desire to toss his cookies for a second time that afternoon. There was a pinch, burn, and then the satisfying feeling of the tourniquet being released before Trent was able to insert the medication and hang a bag of normal saline off of a hook attached to the top bunk. This was a common occurrence in the land of tier one operators.

“Try and close your eyes, we’re going to be staying in with you tonight, Jason and Brock should be back with Full Metal tomorrow morning. Let’s try and get you back to normal before they can kick Ray’s ass for getting you hurt, again.”

Trent didn’t get an answer, Clay had already fallen asleep clutching onto Ray’s pant leg. His finger twitched in his sleep against the material of his pants, but his right hand was curled over his stomach. 

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere soon,” Sonny chortled, pulling up the camping chair for Ray to at least sit in while they waited for sleeping beauty to catch a few z’s.

Ray just shook his head, if the kid slept through the night without waking up, it would be worth a numb ass in the morning. 

If only that were the case. 

The next twelve hours were full of confusion, vomiting, and countless tears all around. Ray was getting desperate for anything that would make Clay even marginally more comfortable or even something that he could  _ do, _ sitting pretty was getting real old, real fast. 

They tried more medication, didn’t touch the pain. In Ray’s opinion, the meds made the confusion worse. Seeing his normally rough and tumble brother with tears streaming down his face while he tried to control the throbbing in his head was torture. But there was nothing to be done. They just had to wait the symptoms out. 

Clay got nauseous, they tried to give antiemetics through his IV, then the IV stopped working and Trent had to go through the whole process of trying to get another one started. Clay wanted breakfast, but nothing would stay in his stomach. It was an infuriatingly frustrating night, but finally around two in the morning, Clay fell asleep and stayed asleep, still clutching onto Ray’s pant leg as he bounced his knee up and down.

“The kid knocked?” Sonny asked quietly, counting the rise and fall of Clay’s chest as he slept. 

“Finally,” Ray scoffed. 

Trent just chuckled and brought out his ever present notebook, flipping to a new page. Carefully Trent scrawled out ‘head injuries’, another sub-category that they had learned to manage in the short time that they had been operating with the kid. 

Head Injuries:

  * Kid switches languages when he’s concussed, REMIND HIM HE CAN SPEAK ENGLISH
  * IV Tyelnol works better for pain management than liquid gels 
  * If the kid asks for food DO NOT give him food, makes him vomit
  * Headaches are severe, light and sound sensitive



Trent hoped that when Clay woke up he would be in a marginally better mood than when he fell asleep, but he wasn’t hopeful. At least they had somewhat started to figure things out with the kid, it made everyone sleep easier at night knowing that their brother was safe.


	4. Green - General Illness

Clay groaned in the pre-dawn light at the alarm clock blaring on his nightstand. His throat felt like it was lined in sandpaper and his head felt like it was going to explode. Closing his eyes, he tried to muster up the energy to get out of bed, but his aching limbs didn’t want to obey his commands. When the snooze blared for a second time, Clay reached out his hand and fumbled with the off button before rolling over and staggering to the shower, hoping that the steam would somehow fix his sickness. 

It didn’t work, and neither did the cold medicine that Clay forced down his throat. Thinking back on the last week, Clay realized that the only person who he could have possible caught a bug from was Emma. That was the price of kissing his girl when she was sick, he would inevitably get sick too. Not that he really minded this particular consequence if it got him some uninterrupted time with his girl.

Through bleary, itchy eyes, Clay didn’t see much of anything as he drove to work, didn’t focus on any one thing for too long, and truthfully, didn’t know how he managed to end up at work without getting into an accident. Shuffling to his cage, Clay sat down and put his head in his hands, not seeing Jason and Trent as they walked in the door. 

“What the hell happened to you, kid?” Jason chuckled. All he could see of Clay was his bent over form in his cage, he figured that they kid had far too much to drink the night before, the snapchats from Sonny were pretty damning evidence of a night out.

Clay cleared his throat, wincing, then replied in a scratchy voice, “No clue, woke up like this.”

Truthfully, Clay did know what happened, but he was definitely not going to be admitting to his boss, and his girlfriend’s father, that he got sick because he was playing tonsil hockey with his daughter. That would only lead to his balls in a vice, and he was quite attached to those, thank you very much. 

“What exactly did you wake up like?” Trent asked, moving closer to him and pulling out a pair of gloves from the box in his cage. Prior to drafting the kid, Trent had kept his gloves with the med kit, the logical place to keep them since he only used to use them when they were spun up. Then they drafted Clay. When Clay lifted his head from his hands, Trent was taken aback. The kid looked like shit. 

“Throat hurts like a mother, head feels like it’s going to explode, my body aches. Normal cold stuff, I’m going to take some more cold medicine and it’ll be fine.” Clay tried to reassure them, though as he kept talking, his head felt foggier and foggier. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching greenies today?” Trent asked, palpating down his neck, noting the areas where Clay pulled away. The skin felt hot to the touch and the submandibular and superficial cervical lymph nodes were definitely tender. Kid was fighting off a decent infection if the lymph nodes were involved. But the kid was fine yesterday, horsing around with Mikey and Sonny in the backyard. How someone could get so sick overnight still baffled Trent, but what  _ wasn’t _ baffling about Clay Spenser?

“Yeah, basics of weaponry. Taking ‘em down to the range today to practice on long shots.” Clay opened his mouth when Trent pulled out a tongue blade, gagging at the intrusion, which of course made his throat hurt even more as the muscles seized. 

“And you think that’s a smart idea,” Jason said slowly from the other side of Trent. If the kid couldn’t even hold up his head, why on God’s green Earth did he think that he could handle a sniper rifle?

“It’s a cold, Jace, we’ve all instructed and operated when we’re sick,” Clay countered, wincing when Trent shone his penlight at his eyes but not turning away. 

“Not when we don’t have to, not when there are other people that can teach, and certainly not when we physically are unable to move forward.” Jason said, looking at Clay. The kid could be so infuriating at times, always thinking that he needed to do everything. Bravo wasn’t one person and Green Team didn’t have one instructor, they would be fine without him for one day. 

“And I can still physically do the job, haven’t keeled over yet,” Clay said stubbornly. He had dragged his sick ass out of bed for the day and he did not want to look weak, he wasn’t the weakest link. He would prove it if it was the last thing he did. That was the very least that he owed Adam Seaver. 

“And then what happens when you’re going to take a shot and your headache gets worse? Or you start getting dizzy teaching? Or some idiot greenie makes a wrong move and because you’re not thinking clearly you get fragged? Is that really the smartest decision?”

Clay never got a chance to answer. Trent smoothly cut in between the two men and looked at Clay. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a smart decision to instruct or not, I’m making the decision. You’re confined to quarters until this resolves, no sense in getting sicker and not being able to spin up when shore duty ends.” Trent waited for the explosion from Clay, but when his shoulders fell and his bloodshot eyes looked up at him, Trent melted. Secretly, he thought that Clay had a kicked puppy look when he got sick, and today was no exception. The blue of his eyes got darker and he looked so much like a child that Trent couldn’t even find it in himself to be irritated that Clay came to work sick. 

“You good with that, kid?” Jason tested, waiting to see if the kid would obey his orders and go back home. He could procrastinate worse than Mikey on a Sunday night when he didn’t want to do his homework, this was the only way to make sure that the kid rested. 

“I’ll be fine Jace, yes, I’m going to go back to my bed and sleep.”

“Actually boss, I would want someone to stay with him,” Trent interrupted. He was sure that Clay would go home and lay in bed, but if there was no one there to help him when his symptoms inevitably got worse, there could be so many more complications that they wouldn’t know about. 

“Ok, so you’re coming with me then. Em’s still home sick, you’ll stay with us for a while.” Clay nodded and the three of them made their way out to Jason’s car. Sitting in the passenger seat, Clay vaguely heard Trent talking to Emma on the phone and Jason asking him questions, but as his eyelids drooped he lost track of the conversation, content to rest in the warmth of truck. 

As Trent spoke with Emma, he could see the kid falling asleep and was happy that he felt safe enough to relax. It had been a rough few months after Adam died where the kid was hiding things from everyone, not wanting to seem weak in front of his new teammates, but now Trent was hopeful that Clay would start letting them in a little more. Pulling up the house, Trent went in first to lay eyes on Emma. She looked pale and tired, but otherwise on the mend. Hopefully she would be fine taking care of Clay, although he was hoping that the kid would stay asleep until he and Jason were finished on base. 

“Ok Em, I’m leaving you some instructions on what meds to give and when, I’ll have my cell on me so if you need something call. Naima is home too, if you can’t get in touch with me.”

“Uncle Trent, we’ll be fine,” Emma coughed, clearing her throat. “He’s knocked, probably has the same thing that I have. We’ll sit on the couch under some blankets and watch reality tv.”

“If you’re sure Em, but please call me if something isn’t right or if he gets worse,” Trent was uneasy leaving Clay, something about the way his symptoms began wasn’t adding up. Something was wrong. 

Emma paused for a moment. If Uncle Trent was worried, Clay had something more than a cold. He wasn’t telling her everything, she could tell. “Is there anything that I should be looking out for?”

“If his fever gets worse or if his symptoms get worse. I don’t really know Em, I can’t figure the kid out,” Trent admitted, rubbing his hand down his beard. He really wanted to be able to stay with Spenser or better yet take him to an urgent care, but that wouldn’t happen unless he was actively unconscious. Clay wouldn’t go to a doctor unless it was ordered and it would be pointless to try and explain to Jason why he felt that he needed to stay with the kid over a cold. 

“I can do that, you should both go. The sooner you finish at work, the sooner you can get back here. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Emma promised, glancing over at the man sleeping on her couch. He was adorable, cuddled up on his side, face relaxed in sleep. Re-reading the instructions that Trent had left for her, she set an alarm for the next time that she was supposed to give him cold medicine and made a mug of tea. She could stand to stay up for a little while and work on the mountain of work that she was avoiding. 

A few hours passed and Emma had almost finished all of her work when the alarm on her phone went off, time for more medications. Padding over to the couch, she shook his shoulder, noting the temperature of his skin through the thin shirt that he wore. “Clay, honey, time for more meds.”

“Emmie?” Clay mumbled, not sure if she was real or not. “You’re here?”

“Honey,  _ you’re _ in my house. It’s time to take more medicine, you think you can make it to the kitchen or do you want me to bring them here?” She hoped that Clay would just let her bring him the cold and flu medication, but the man was stubborn.

“Can you bring me them?” Clay said, head flopping down on the couch. He could barely keep his eyes open, he didn’t think that he would be able to walk to the kitchen and swallow medication. Jason was right, it would have been a horrible idea to go out and try and teach today, not that he would ever tell his boss that, Jason’s ego was plenty big already.

“Yeah babe, stay here ok?”

As if he was really going to go somewhere.

Emma hurried back with the medication and a bottle of water. Once Clay had taken his pills, she sat with him and put his head in her lap. Running her fingers through his hair, she lost track of time as she watched his chest rise and fall. The warmth that was coming off of his body was incredible, and Emma felt herself sweat just from holding him. From the nights that Emma had spent at his apartment, she knew that he ran hot normally, but this was too hot. He was still sweating, so at least he wasn’t getting dehydrated, but the medication didn’t seem to be affecting the fever at all. Which could be dangerous. That much she remembered from taking care of Jameelah when she had the flu last winter, the girl had such a high fever that she ended up seizing, taking ten years off of Aunt Naima’s life. Emma would like to avoid that option if it was at all possible. 

Emma was startled out of her thoughts when Clay coughed, gasping for air on her lap. She turned him quickly but even through pats on his back and sitting him upright, he couldn’t quite draw in a deep breath. His panicked eyes met hers and she knew that Clay wasn’t sick with the same thing that she had this week. 

It was time to call Trent.

Once he had caught his breath and she was sure that Clay was back asleep, she grabbed her cellphone off the table. Scrolling to her contact list, Emma pressed speed dial four and waited with Clay while the phone rang. He was struggling to breathe, coughing and gasping. Something was wrong. 

“Hi Uncle Trent? I need you to come and look at Clay, he’s gotten worse.” 

“Define getting worse Em,” Trent growled into the phone. He knew that something was wrong with the kid, he never should have left him alone. Jumping into his truck, Trent cradled his cellphone between his ear and his shoulder as he made his way to the Hayes’ household. 

“His temperature’s the same, but he’s short of breath, gasping for air. I don’t know what to do here,” Emma rushed out. 

“Do you know if he has his inhaler with him? Can you hear any wheezing?” Trent spat out rapid fire, pressing the gas pedal down further. Again, the kid picked the worst fucking moments to go into respiratory distress. 

“No I checked before calling, it wasn’t in any of his pockets. I can’t hear wheezing but I don’t exactly have a stethoscope. I sat him up and gave him another dose of ibuprofen, but I didn’t know what else to do. Should I call 911?”

“No I’ll be there in three minutes. Just keep an eye on him till I get there ok? It’ll be fine Emmie K, I promise.” Trent hears the dial tone and inched the gas pedal down even further. There was no way that he could guarantee that Clay would be fine but Sonny was right, you couldn’t help but reassure the girl that everything would turn out fine. Sonny swore it was the big eyes she used, but Trent would beg to differ; it was that tone of voice that reminded him so much of a younger Alana that did it for him, he couldn’t say no. 

Throwing the car in park, Trent jogged up the front steps and yanked the door open, prepared to see Clay hunched over, struggling for breath, but instead was met with the frantic face of one Ms Emma Hayes. 

* * *

Emma paced back and forth behind the couch that she had propped Clay up on while she waited for Trent to arrive, unsure of what she was supposed to be doing. If this was just a cold, she would be fine taking care of him, but his fever was much too high for it to be a cold. 

“Emma? Where is he?” Trent called out, carrying his kit through the door. 

“We’re in the living room!”

Trent hurried towards the sound of her voice and stopped short when he saw Clay passed out on the couch. His breathing was labored and skin flushed, this was not the man he had dropped off this morning. How does he get this sick this fast? Trent wondered.

“How long has he been like this?” Trent asked, breaking out the temporal thermometer. Clay hated the ones that got stuck in the ear and it wasn’t always the best idea to stick something in his mouth, the kid had a pretty strong gag reflex. They had learned that the hard way and never wanted to have a repeat, one incidence of projectile vomiting was enough for Trent.

“An hour? Maybe two. He’s been getting worse this afternoon, but the shortness of breath is new. I’m more concerned about the fever,” Emma bit her lip as she watched Trent assess Clay, she didn’t like the look on his face.

“You’re right, there’s not much we can do for the shortness of breath. Good job on sitting him upright, Em,” Trent praised gently. “His fever is pretty high, but we can work on getting that down. Do you have ice packs anywhere?”

Emma nodded and went to the kitchen, grabbing all of the ice packs that were stored in the bottom shelf. Injuries were a pretty common occurrence in the Hayes’ household between Jason and Mikey, they always had ice packs somewhere. 

“Help me get him situated,” Trent was stripping Clay of his shirt and pants, not paying attention to the flush that was spreading over Emma’s cheeks. Clay was practically bathing in his own sweat and Trent didn’t like how unresponsive he was, if someone was taking off his clothes he would definitely have something to say about, no matter how feverish he was at the moment.

“Where do you want the ice packs?” Emma got over her momentary shyness and focused on the task at hand. There would be time to look at his muscles later, in private, without Uncle Trent looking in on them. 

“Put one under each arm and then one in between his legs. If you have more than that, put it behind his neck,” Trent instructed.

Emma tucked the ice packs in the locations that Trent had instructed and sat on the opposite couch and watched as Trent started an IV and drew up medications. She didn’t want to be in the way but didn’t want to leave Clay either. For once, Clay needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down now.

The next few hours passed slowly, both Emma and Trent watching Clay’s fever carefully. It never got higher but sustained itself around 104, even with the massive amounts of ibuprofen going through his bloodstream. 

Emma was half asleep, leaning against the couch where Clay slept when she felt his hand run through her hair. Thinking he was still feverish, Emma turned and got up again, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep babe, I’m here,” she soothed.

“Emma?” Clay said, sitting upright, blanket falling from his shoulders. “Why do I have ice packs everywhere?”

Putting her hand on his forehead, Emma was surprised when it felt cool, maybe his fever had broken after all. Emma grabbed the thermometer from the table and ran it over his forehead, happy when his arms wrapped around her waist and his head rested on her abdomen. The thermometer beeped and read 98.6, a normal temperature. 

“You have ice packs everywhere because you were feverish,” Trent growled from the armchair. If the fever had lasted even one more hour Trent was going to drag his ass to the hospital, even if he had to do it kicking and screaming. 

“How high was the fever?” Clay said sheepishly, rubbing his neck. 

“104, for about eight hours. Scared the shit out of me,” Emma replied, stroking his face. 

Clay just laughed nervously, his fever had been higher before, but he didn’t think that it was the right time to tell Trent that. It would most likely lead to another lecture, though he was sure that he would be getting a lecture, no matter what. 

“Clay,” Trent said slowly, sitting straight in his chair. He knew that tone, the little shit was hiding something from him. 

“I get high fevers when I get sick, I usually just sleep them off,” Clay muttered, not liking the vein that was popping on his forehead. 

Trent just flopped back on his chair. Of course the kid got high fevers, why would he respond to a cold like a normal human being? “Do you feel ok now?” Trent asked quietly, trying to contain his anger. 

“Still sick, but better, my chest is still tight though,” Clay answered truthfully. The one thing about Trent was that he drilled into them that they were not to lie when he asked them how they were doing, he couldn’t help them if he didn’t know what was wrong. 

“Go back to sleep, I’ll give you a nebulizer treatment tomorrow morning.”

Clay didn’t want to push his luck so he laid back down, pulling Emma onto the couch with him. If he had to be sick, it was nice to be able to hold Emma in his arms. Breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo, Clay held her close, not seeing Trent scribbling in his notebook. 

Trent flipped to the page where he had listed all of the random facts that he had discovered about Clay Spenser and turned the page. The kid was full of funny little quirks and Trent was determined to figure them all out, he wasn’t going to lose his brother because he wasn’t capable of doing his job.

Random Shit:

  * Red gatorade makes him vomit, prefers the blue one
  * Naproxen gives him leg cramps, give only if necessary
  * Hates needles, needs to eat before getting blood work or stitches, vomits if he doesn’t
  * Licks his lips when he vomits
  * Bites his lip or rubs the back of his neck when he feels sick 
  * High fevers are normal, don’t panic if they go above 103



  
  



	5. Red - Bleeding

Clay sighed, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth before focusing back on the sight of his rifle. It was a simple mission, one they had done time and time again. Identify the target, eliminate the target. Easy peasy, except it was fifteen hundred feet, through a crowded city street, and the people all looked the same. Nothing easy about that at all. But it was the job that they paid him the big bucks to do, as Bravo’s sniper.

“Bravo One to Bravo Six,” Jason’s voice crackled through the comms, sounding irritated. He knew that the boys were getting antsy, they were hidden away watching the target from afar, nowhere near the action where they all longed to be. 

“Go for Bravo One,” Clay said calmly, even those his stomach was twisting itself inside out, this mission was taking far longer than they expected, he didn’t like this,  _ at all _ . 

“Any sign of him yet?” 

“Negative Bravo One, still watching and waiting. Are we sure that the intel was good?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mandy, he had to trust her with his life for the majority of the time, but sometimes the intel was bad and it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Clay didn’t get a response from Jason and he assumed that he was double checking with TOC about the info himself. The last thing that any of them wanted was to be spun up on a mission where they couldn’t complete the objective because of shitty intel. Scanning the street from the abandoned building where he was holed up in, Clay spotted the man he was looking for in his sight. “Boys, I have eyes on jackpot, repeat eyes on jackpot.”

“Good copy, Six. Execute.” Jason’s definitive voice sounded small and far away as Clay focused in on his target. Fifteen hundred feet was a long distance, but it wasn’t the longest that he had ever hit by a long shot. Clay placed his finger on the trigger, pressing ever so gently until he was sure that he would make the shot. Then he fired and watched as his bullet hit its mark and the man crumpled. The city street erupted in chaos as people ran panicking, but Clay’s job was done. He wasn’t looking for any other problems, as far as he knew, he had taken out the only tango. 

“Six to One, jackpot confirmed,” Clay said smugly. 

“Looks like Blondie over there is more than just a pretty face,” Sonny chuckled. It wasn’t that he doubted that Clay would make the shot, he just wished that Spenser’s nest was big enough to fit more than one person.

“Yeah Sonny, because I shoot things with a rifle that was meant for more precision than your machine gun, got a little more  _ skill _ in that department,” Clay sniped back.

“Oh ho, the only skill you have, grasshopper, is running your mouth,” Sonny explained. Clay could imagine Sonny waving his hands as he tried to ‘educate’ Clay on all of the finer things in life that he had gotten wrong. “Just about anyone can pick people off with a rifle.”

Clay sat at the window as a grin spread across his face. Sonny Quinn was many things, but a sniper he was not. “If you say so Son, I’d love to see the day you go to sniper school.”

“You know what, you are damn right Spenser, my skill set is far more advanced and complicated than pulling a trigger. I’ll leave that to you youngins’,” Sonny was quick to backtrack and the sounds of his brothers chuckling filled his ears. For a mission, it was pretty low stress and Clay was glad. They had just had a series of long OPs back to back and none of them went well. This was good, this meant that they were back.

“If you two are done gossiping,” Ray interrupted, still chuckling at the antics between Clay and Sonny, “I’d like to go home.”

“I’m on my way down now,” Clay finished packing up his rifle and stood from his perch. “Hey, anyone think that Davis has food for us when we get -”

Clay never got to finish his sentence and through his comms the boys heard the shattering of glass and the whizz of the bullet striking its target. They waited for a moment, hoping that Clay would key in for comms again. Another moment passed and Jason paced from his position in the dusty basement of the same building.

TOC couldn’t get eyes on him through ISR.

The kid had gone dark.

Only one thing to do. 

* * *

“Let’s move,” Jason said, shouldering his own rifle. Climbing the stairs to the eleventh floor where Clay had set up his nest was brutal, but hearing the pants and groans of his brothers spurned him on. They weren’t going to leave a man behind just because they had to climb some stairs. Sonny met him on the fourth floor from his position and they found Trent a few floors up with Brock and Cerberus. Ray was still running from his position across the street, cursing the fact that the alley was blind either way you looked, requiring the team to be split. 

Finally, _finally_ they got to the eleventh floor of the building and Jason was the first one through the door, fully expecting to scold Clay for going silent. _The kid better have a damn good explanation._ _If he’s sitting pretty the kid’s going to be running hills for a year._ he promised himself, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be the case. He would grumble and groan but would ultimately make him run for a day, maybe a week, if he was in a mood. 

Coming up on Spenser’s nest, Jason went left and Sonny went right leaving Trent to charge in through the door, stopping just as he crossed the threshold. Clay was face down on the floor, a pool of steadily growing around his head. No. No. Please, God. No.

_ Calm down, Sawyer, think!  _ Kneeling in the pool of blood surrounding Clay, Trent gently turned Clay onto his back, preparing himself for the sight of a bullet hole in his forehead. He could feel Jason and Ray standing over his shoulder, but he couldn’t turn them away. They wouldn’t listen and it wasn’t worth it to waste his breath.

Sucking in a breath, Trent sent up a prayer. There wasn’t a bullet hole. He wasn’t dead. Yet.

His vision focused in on his brother and all that mattered in that moment was the bleeding. 

He heard Ray pound through the door and the softly cursed prayer that escaped his lips, but as he scanned Clay’s body he couldn’t find an entry wound anywhere, on his front or his back. 

Where the fuck was the blood coming from?

“Sonny!” Trent barked, yanking open his kit. “Help me figure out where this bleeding is coming from.” 

Thrusting gauze pads in his hands, he pulled on gloves of his own before throwing a pair to Sonny. Wiping the blood from Clay’s forehead, Trent spotted some lacerations on his cheeks and a particularly long graze near his temple. The lucky son of a bitch took a headshot without actually ending up with a hole in his head. Kid definitely had a horseshoe stuck up his ass.

“Why is there so much blood?” Sonny bit out, throwing pad after pad of gauze on the ground. It seemed like there was a never ending stream of blood that was pouring from his face. 

Trent didn’t answer, holding pressure on the laceration on his temple. 

The laceration caused by the bullet that could have killed his brother.  _ Should _ have killed his brother. But he couldn’t think about that right now. 

Focus on the bleeding. Stop the bleeding. 

“Trent, why on God’s green Earth is Blondie playing Sleeping Beauty right now?”

“I don’t know, Sonny,” Trent muttered, hands pausing on Clay’s face. Just as he was going to reach into his kit, a hand was thrust in front of his face, holding a large bottle of liquid skin in his hands. 

Brock. Thank God for Brock. Grabbing the bottle, he looked for more gauze pads only to find more in front of his face.

“Good, Sonny, start with the ones that I cleaned. Use the alcohol pads before the liquid skin, squeeze the edges together.” Throwing the bottle across Clay’s chest, Trent didn’t look to make sure that Sonny was following his instructions, he trusted him to do as ordered.

Distantly, Trent heard the popping of gunfire as Ray and Jason took out the remaining tangoes. Raising his head, Trent glanced at Jason. He would only move Clay if they absolutely had to do, but otherwise they were staying put. When Jason didn’t say anything, he focused back on the task at hand, noting that Clay was opening his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, Clay! Look at me!” Trent cajoled, hoping that Clay wasn’t concussed on top of bleeding like a stuck pig everywhere. 

“Tr’nt?” Clay slurred, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, teeth stained a horrific shade of pink. 

“Yeah, Clay, we’re here. Gonna fix you up,” Trent pressed another gauze pad to the laceration on his cheek, trying to keep the tone light now that Clay was awake and conscious. He knew who he was, a good sign. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. Again he looked to his side and Brock was right beside him, suture kit in hand. He didn’t even have to say a word.

“Tr’nt? Am I gonna die?” Clay’s voice was soft, trembling and for a moment Trent didn’t know how to respond. Clay was never unsure, he never questioned if he was going to come out of a situation, it was always a given.

“You’re not going anywhere, Clay. Trent here’s gonna fix you up and you’re gonna be right as rain. Ain’t that right, Brock?” Sonny soothed Clay, jerking his head at Brock. 

“That’s right Clay, all you have to do is stay with us brother, alright? Talk to me about Emma, what’s she up to this week?” Brock would use anything he had in his arsenal to distract Clay, Emma seemed like a good option, something light, happy. Something to fight for. 

“She’s good,” Clay reached a hand up to try and brush against his face, but his hand was batted down by several hands. “She’s got a test this week, was stressed about it.” Clay closed his eyes again, content to go to the space where it was only him and Emma in their own little corner. He didn’t see the look that Trent threw to Brock when his eyes closed, only felt his hands on his chest and his voice in his ears. 

“Yeah, brother? When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Yesterday, got to see her face,” Clay said distractedly, trying not to inhale the blood that was dripping down his nose. “Brock, man, you gotta tell Em something.”

“Kid, you’re gonna be fine. Trent’s looking to start stitching you up now, the bullet didn’t hit you,” Brock soothed. He knew what was coming and he didn’t even want to think of a moment where he might actually have to deliver a message like this to his niece. Not in his lifetime. 

“Brock, just,” Clay struggled to find the right words. “Tell her that there’s a letter for her, in the drawer of my desk in the apartment. Just, please Brock, promise me.” Clay shifted on the ground, trying to find Brock’s face amidst the sea of camo. 

Brock floundered for a moment before Trent glared at him, suture kit in hand. If the kid would stop moving around he might be able to get some of these lacerations closed. Trent didn’t dare give him any local anesthetic, it would just make him bleed more, they had learned that lesson the hard way a few weeks ago and Trent wasn’t keen on a repeat performance. He was just hoping that the stitches would hold, but it didn’t seem likely. 

“Ok, Clay. I’ll let her know, but only if you keep telling me about Emma.” Trent nodded at Brock, before dropping the suture kit. None of the stitches were holding and every time he poked the needle through the fine skin of his face the bleeding started again. Grabbing his last gauze pad from his kit, he pressed it against the bullet graze on his temple with his right hand and grabbed a penlight with his left. Now that the majority of the bleeding was slowing, he could start some of the other assessments that he missed while handling the priority, bleeding. 

While Brock kept the kid talking about Emma, he made sure that his pupils were equal and reacting to light. They could follow the movement of the pen and all of the scopes of vision were intact, but that didn’t mean he was out of the woods just yet. Taking a bullet to the head, even from a distance, could cause countless injuries that Trent couldn’t see. Did he have a hematoma, or fracture, or increased intracranial pressure, or any number of things that could easily take his brother’s life? Trent wouldn’t know, couldn’t know, until they moved him and got to a hospital . Satisfied for the moment with his mini neuro assessment, Trent stood and paced over to Jason. “We gotta get out of here, now. Kid needs blood, and a fucking hospital.”

Jason rubbed his hand over his beard, knowing that Trent wasn’t going to like his answer. “Exfil’s ten mikes out, and we gotta get to the exfil point.” 

Trent was quiet, thinking about his options. They could stay and wait for another transport, which could potentially by longer than ten mikes, or they could carry him and risk starting the bleeding all over again. “How far are we talking about?”

“Three clicks at least, or we wait for the next transport that can come get us from our current pos.”

Trent thought for a moment, neither option was good. Hiking for three clicks with Spenser draped over his shoulder could make the shallows cuts over this face and neck open again. But they didn’t know where else he was bleeding, they could only see what was in front of them. The possibility of Clay bleeding in his brain was very real and very dangerous. There was no option, they couldn’t wait. “Alright, we’re going to move, Sonny you got him?”

Trent waited for Sonny to nod and started stuffing supplies back into his kit, they were going to have to move quickly if they were going to make exfil. With Jason and Ray in the front and Brock and Cerberus in the back, Trent put his sole focus on Clay’s face and the graze on his temple. Now that he had more light, he could see a sharp shock of white and it took his brain a few seconds to realize that it was bone. Urging Jason and Ray faster, Trent was grateful when he heard the familiar whump of the rotors of the C17, they were almost there. Climbing into the helo, Trent strapped Clay onto the gurney and let the medics take over, keeping one eye on him from his seat. Closing his eyes, Trent tried to calm down his fast beating heart. They all made it out, they were all safe, they were all alive. Repeating that over and over in his brain, Trent fell asleep. He did his job. 

* * *

The next time that Trent saw Clay was the next morning. He was pale, gauze wrapped around his head, lacerations stitched and glued neatly. The first time he saw the amount of cuts, Trent did a double take. There was no logical way that the amount of blood that was pouring from his face came from the shallow lacerations on his cheek and forehead, it just wasn’t possible. Yes, head wounds bled a lot and most of the blood could easily be attributed to the bullet graze, but not that much blood. After countless meetings with doctors and lab draws, there was no explanation. Each doctor shrugged their shoulders and chalked it up to being yet another strange reaction from Clay, as if the man didn’t have enough reactions. 

“Tr’nt? I got shot?”

It was about time the damn kid woke up, after trekking through the jungle, not one but two transport helos, and a day in the ICU they were all anxiously waiting to see him awake. Of course the kid chose the middle of the damn night when it was just him at the hospital. Little shit. “Yeah kid, you got shot. Took about five years off my life, stop doing that alright?”

“Sure, will do.”

Clay closed his eyes again and Trent relaxed, the kid had nine lives stored somewhere and was quickly running through them. He just hoped that it would be a long time before they ran out and that they figured all of the kid’s quirks before that day came.

Pulling out the tiny notebook full of index cards from his pocket, Trent turned to a fresh card. He really needed to start organizing this shit if Clay was going to stay on Bravo long term, maybe turn them into quick reference cards. On the first line he wrote:

Bleeding. 

  * Don’t panic if there’s a lot of bleeding, panic when there _isn’t_ bleeding. 
  * Liquid skin works better than stitching. 
  * Lidocaine makes him bleed more, put on do not take list. 



Closing the notebook, Trent sat back and watched Clay, chuckling to himself. He would much rather deal with Clay bleeding than have to make a phone call halfway across the world to Emma. He really didn’t want to be Jason right now. All things considered, he was lucky that they were at least somewhat closer to figuring the kid out. 


	6. Purple - Drug Reactions

Sonny Quinn was pissed the fuck off. The mission had gone to hell and a handbasket and he was not in the mood. The oppressive heat of the jungle was making him sweat right through his fatigues and the flies swarming around his face made him itchy at the thought of all the bug bites that he was going to come home with, he fucking hated the jungle. 

On top of his discomfort in his least favorite climate, Sonny longed for Davis in his ear. She was off at OCS and while he was damn proud of her, she somehow always knew what they needed on their missions. The new guy wasn’t exactly cutting it, fumbling all over the place. Even Cerb had voiced his displeasure over the lackluster kibble the new guy had placed in front of him. When the dog doesn’t like you that’s when you know it’s bad.

Just as they were coming through the thick of the jungle to the exfil point, shots rang out, shattering the silence that the thick canopy provided. The boys hit the deck, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from, they couldn’t see a damn thing in this godforsaken jungle. Firing in the general direction of the shots, Sonny breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the telltale thump of bodies dropping. 

“Everyone good?” Jason panted from his position on the floor, heart thumping loudly in his ears. They were so close to getting to the helo but it looked like they were going to miss their exfil after they had busted ass to get to their position in the first place. Great. 

“I’m fine,” Ray called out from beside Jason. His life flashed before his eyes when the shots rang out. But he was fine, he would get to see his family again. 

“We’re all good here, Jay,” Sonny said, staggering to his feet. He was a little bruised from his flying leap to the jungle floor, and maybe he didn’t exactly want to think about what could be slithering beneath him, but he wasn’t hurt. He’d take that as a win. 

“Cerb’s good, I tweaked my shoulder a bit, but it’s not bad,” Brock said, running his hands down Cerb’s soft fur. He knew that he would be fine, Trent would x-ray him within an inch of his life, but Cerb was more important. Satisfied that there weren’t any missing bullet holes on Cerb, he turned to look for Trent. It was odd that Jason was making the call out, that was normally a medic’s job. Then he spotted him, kneeling over Clay. And his heart sank. 

This wasn’t good. 

* * *

“What the hell happened?” Brock bit out, scrambling to go over to Trent’s side. Out of all his brothers, Brock knew Trent the best, had seen him in all sorts of different situations that their harebrained brothers often found themselves in. Trent was quiet. Normally if Clay had found himself in any sort of trouble, there was cursing and orders being barked at them, why was he quiet?

“It’s fine,” Clay called out from his position on the floor, voice strained.

Brock heaved a sigh of relief, at least his brother was still alive. He didn’t know if Trent could take another scenario like where they lost Nate, he didn’t even want to think of that happening to his youngest brother. It wasn’t a scenario that he could picture happening.

“Bullet went through his thigh, looks like it didn’t hit anything major. Through and through injury, not gonna make it to exfil anytime soon, Boss,” Trent said over his shoulder, reaching for the med kit that he carried in his pack. 

Opening the kit, Trent let out a blue streak that was sure to make any sailor blush. Before anyone could say anything, Trent keyed the main channel on comms and unleashed his fury on whoever was sitting on the other side of the microphone. “TOC, this is Four, who the hell did you let pack my med kit before we spun up?”

There was no response for a moment, and the boys waited patiently, eyeing Trent as he attempted to breathe through his rage. Then the fumbling new guy keyed in, “I packed the med kit according to your requests and what we had in inventory as per protocol.”

“Per protocol? You conveniently forgot to restock my kit of anything that is of use to me right now, you didn’t even restock the morphine vials! How is that per protocol!” Trent yelled into the comms. Brock inched his way over to Trent and looked in the kit, laughing incredulously at the state of the kit. There were a few packs of gauze, one roll of gauze, and several packets of antiseptic wipes. The meds that Trent normally laid out neatly in rows were empty, with only two vials of medications that Brock didn’t even want to think about pronouncing. This was not good.

“Yes Bravo Four, via protocol. I understand that prior you had received supplies that were against protocol and went over-”

The bumbling man never got to finish his sentence, as Trent muted the channel. He didn’t have the time to listen to someone dictate what he could and couldn’t have in his med kit. They weren’t the ones that were going out and operating in the dark, where a wrong move could end their lives. They didn’t get to decide what was necessary and what was unnecessary based on a spreadsheet. Looking back down at Clay, Trent knew that this wasn’t going to be fun, but it had to be done if they wanted to get home safely. “Alright kid, we’re going to do this nice and easy, I think the bullet went through, but I gotta check.”

Trent waited for Clay to nod before cutting the leg of his pants off and inspecting the wound site. It was bleeding sluggishly, good no arterial involvement. Probing the wound with glove covered hands, Trent couldn’t see any white, bullet missed the femur, even better. Running his hand down the back of his thigh, Trent couldn’t tell which of the lacerations was the exit wound, if they bullet had even exited the body or not. The bullet had shattered on the way out. Fuck, he needed to go looking for the damn thing.

“Is it bad, Trent?” Clay grunted, trying to keep still while Trent was examining him.

“Not terrible, you’re gonna live,” Trent joked, dropping his serious air for a moment. “But I gotta dig around in there, still not sure if the bullet came out.”

“Brother, can it wait till we get to exfil?” Ray asked him over his shoulder. While he usually deferred to Trent for all things medical, if they didn’t have to cause him any more pain than he was already in, he would rather go for that option. 

“If it’s pressing on something or we move him the wrong way, the bullet could dislodge. I have to see if I can remove it, or we wait here for exfil.”

“That’s not an option,” Jason said from the edge of the canopy that they were under. While they had missed the first exfil window, the second one was non-negotiable. They had to be on that helo. 

“Then I have to look,” Trent said turning back to Clay. 

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Clay coughed, shifting on the damp jungle floor. 

Trent chuckled at the slight attempt that Clay made at a joke. The kid had a way of trying to make other people feel better when he was hurt or injured in some way. Looking over the vials of medication, Trent was torn. There were only two vials of pain medication, one that Clay had taken before and was allergic to and another that he hadn’t taken. He didn’t have any benadryl vials with him, so the first option wasn’t even viable. If the kid went into anaphylaxis from repeat exposure, there was nothing that he could give him if he went into shock. 

He didn’t even have an EpiPen.

“Ok, we have a few options here Clay, I can try and go in without giving you meds or I can give you one that you haven’t taken before. It’s a derivative of morphine, hydromorphone. Have you ever taken that before?” Maybe they’d get lucky and Clay would tell them that the medication worked fine. 

Clay shook his head. “I trust you Trent, give me the injection,” he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing in his thigh. 

With eyebrows raised, Trent swung his gaze to Jason. The kid had to be in pain to willingly allow Trent to give him medication, especially one where he didn’t know the side effects that he could encounter. Drawing up the medication, Trent slowly injected it into the largest vein he could find. It wasn’t ideal, to push medication without an IV line, but it could be done in a pinch. 

Five men and one dog observed Clay’s face as the medication took effect. The lines around his eyes relaxed and the tension in his jaw released. Once Trent was satisfied that he was medicated, he palpated around the edge of the entry wound before inserting his finger. When he didn’t find any particulates he moved to the exit wound. Sure that he hadn’t found anything, Trent was almost ready to reach for his suture kit when his finger brushed against something small and hard. “Gotcha,” he whispered, grabbing a pair of forceps from the kit. 

“You found the bullet?” Ray asked. He was getting antsy staying in one location while there was an unknown amount of tangoes still in jungle searching for them, if they could get a move on, it would be in their best interest.

“Oh I found the little shit alright,” Trent grinned. Now they could move towards exfil and home. “Hey Clay, gonna start wrapping your leg ok? You with me?” Trent wasn’t expecting a response, Clay on opioids was normally silent and confused. 

“Trent?” whispered Clay tremulously.

“Yeah kid, what’s up?” Trent didn’t pause his movements, white gauze covering the bullet wound. The kid hadn’t moved a muscle since Trent medicated him, and it was clear that the medication was working, maybe a little too well. Ray and Sonny would most likely end up having to carry him to the exfil point, they had certainly had enough practice. 

“I don’t feel good,” Clay said. 

Something in his tone made Trent pause and look up at his face. He was pale and drawn, but he looked confused. “What kinda don’t feel good? You gonna be sick?”

Clay never answered, eyes rolling back in his skull as his arms and legs stiffened and then began to jerk. Trent blinked once, then sprang into action. “Shit! Brock turn him on his side!”

“What’s happening?” Sonny asked in his ear. 

Trent couldn’t answer him, his mind needed to be focused on Clay, there was no time to start soothing his brothers, that would come later. “Ray start timing, Jason watch his head hold him steady! Try and get some of his gear off of him,” Scrambling for his kit, Trent desperately hoped that there was something in there that would help him. Logically he knew that he needed to give Lorazepam, hell he would settle for rectal Diazepam if he could find it, but there was nothing in his kit. He was helpless. 

“Trent, why are you not doing anything!” Sonny barked, his brother was seizing and the medic was kneeling beside him, doing nothing. 

“Because there is nothing that I can do, Sonny,” he said quietly. Hands clenching and unclenching by his side. 

Three agonizing minutes later, Clay stopped seizing arms and legs falling limply to the ground. Heaving a sigh of relief, Trent carefully rolled Clay onto his back. His face was relaxed, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the hydromorphone was working. But it wasn’t working, it was making his brother seize. 

There was silence in the jungle, the only sounds were those of the insect buzzing and the shallow breathing of their brother. Then Ray broke the silence, “Trent, what just happened?”

“He had a medication reaction, one that I was trying to prevent that happened anyways because someone didn’t restock my kit.” Trent sighed, shaking his head. He had literally no idea of what to expect from Clay, he could seize again, there could be an increase in pressure in his brain, he could have any number of possible complications all because one cake eater thought that they had gone over budget too many times. Fuck, he hated politics.

The boys were quiet, watching Trent take vitals and finish wrapping the wound on Clay’s leg. They placed a lot of trust in Trent to know exactly what to do when things went wrong, but they had never seen a situation where Trent didn’t know what to do, it just wasn’t fathomable. 

“Trent?” Clay said, lifting his head up off the jungle floor. 

“Yeah bud, I’m here. You feel alright?” Trent asked, tying off the roll of gauze that only just wrapped around his thigh enough times for the dressing to be secure. 

“I’m not in bed? Where’s Emma? Did I go swimming?” Clay muttered, eyes slipping closed again. “I don’t know what we were, who were we going to get?”

“What in the holy hell? Did that medication scramble his brains?” Sonny railed, fear creeping into his voice. 

“It’s called a postictal state, normal for him to be confused after a seizure. We have to get to exfil, Jay, any way that you can request a medevac on the helo?”

Jason paced for a moment, there wasn’t a way for the medevac to be on the helo, they were already en route, but they could divert. Bagram was the closest base, hopefully they would be able to get Clay there in time. “We can divert, but no medevac. We gotta move though, helo’s ten mikes out.”

The entire time that Ray and Sonny were carrying Clay in a spare hammock, Trent was praying to every God that would listen that Clay wouldn’t have another seizure. With Brock and Cerberus in the back and Jason in the front, Trent kept steady watch over his brother. “How are you doing, Clay? Anything hurt?”

“I’m ok, nothing hurts, med worked good,” Clay mumbled. 

Trent knew that it was getting harder for him to focus on getting a sentence together, the pain medication was doing its job, but no one would say that the medication worked well. The analgesic effect was not worth taking another five years off of Trent’s life if he had another seizure. Once they reached the exfil point, Trent loaded him up into the chopper, and started laughing when he spotted a med kit tucked into the side of helo. 

“Has all the stress finally scrambled your brain?” Sonny asked, strapping Clay into the backboard. They couldn’t really afford for Trent to lose his marbles now, but at least they were all safe.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, controlling his laughter. “There’s a med kit! A proper med kit!” Trent opened the first flap and nearly did a jig in the C-17. There were rows of vials lined up neatly with bags of IV fluids. He had something that he could use to help his brother, finally. 

As the helo moved towards Bagram, Trent pulled out his notebook. Flipping past the various medical maladies that Trent had encountered with Clay, he came to a blank sheet of paper and started a new medication list. 

Definitely Do NOT Have:

  * Hydromorphone (Dilaudid) → causes SEIZURES



Closing the notebook, Trent rested his head against the mesh of the C-17. The kid was going to be fine, but he didn’t know if he could take another mishap like this one. As soon as he was home and cleared, Trent was going to drag the kid to every doctor and specialist that he could find, whether he liked it or not. Blackburn would support him and he was pretty sure that Sonny would help, the kid didn’t stand a chance. They were going to figure this out, they had to. Clay was their brother now, losing him wasn’t an option. 

Flipping through the pages of the field notebook, Trent chuckled when he realized that he had written on the very last page. He had never in his entire career as a corpsman filled up an entire notebook, but yet in the short time that Clay Spenser had been on Bravo he had managed to achieve what he had previously thought was impossible. When they landed Trent would be making a pit stop to figure out how to get his notes laminated, he wanted to be able to keep the information on him at all times without being able to lose it. With information this precious, Trent wasn’t going to take any precautions, not when it could help him keep his brother alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my absolute favorite piece to write, one because it's whump and two because it challenged me as a writer to create something that wasn't romance. I hope you enjoy!  
> Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!


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